


If I Could Love You With All My Senses

by thepeskyunicorn



Category: History Boys (2006)
Genre: Childhood, First Kiss, M/M, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4770134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepeskyunicorn/pseuds/thepeskyunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was to be a start of a lifelong friendship and, looking back, Scripps wondered if that was when it all began.</p><p> </p><p>Or, Scripps, with all his foolish heart, realises how much he loves Posner<br/>Edit: alright so I discovered a few glaring mistakes and lack of flow in this fic so I'll try to change it asap</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Could Love You With All My Senses

**i. Sight**

 

Scripps first met Posner when they were in kindergarten, left behind by their harried parents. Back then, he was still a quiet little boy, ignored by the other children and perplexing the staff with his refusal to interact. Scripps doesn’t mind, not with the toys and books that the day care provided. He prefers the solitude and his thoughts that fills up the space.

 

On that particular day, he was playing quietly in the corner with his lego set, intent on rebuilding an accurate depiction of the Warwick Castle, when he noticed the newcomer in the corner.

 

The boy, Posner, was a slip of a thing and was currently hiding near the entrance of the entrance of the day care, nibbling on his blanket. Their day care had been woefully understaffed, and Posner was left alone and neglected,sniffling and glancing around worriedly, eyes glazing with tears unshed.

 

Scripps, with a spirit of a child who recently learnt the definition of ‘kindness’, had picked up a lego block and toddled over, offering it to him. With grateful eyes and a trembling smile, Posner accepted his invitation. That afternoon, they built the best castle the rest of the children had ever seen, and all the teachers were amazed that Scripps was actually talking to someone.

 

It was to be a start of a lifelong friendship and, looking back, Scripps wondered if that was when it all began.

 

There was an addition to their kindergarten a week later, in the form of another boy with unruly black hair and a loud voice. His name is Dakin and he was what all the other teachers described as ‘uncontrollable’. Dakin had tried to destroy the playmats in the leisure corner five minutes after his arrival. By the time lunch came and went, the entire day care was simultaneously worried and terrified of him.

 

It was only two days later, when Dakin was trying to climb an oak tree that grew outside their kindergarten, that Posner and Scripps properly met him. They had wandered outside by accident and were deciding on having a quiet afternoon under the tree when they noticed an increasingly frustrated Dakin.

 

“Lift me up.” Dakin demanded, trying his best to scale his way up the rough trunk and failing miserably. He gestured imperiously at Scripps.

 

Scripps stared at him calmly. “No.”

 

Dakin sputtered, unused to people ignoring his requests. He turned his attention to Posner.

 

“You,” he ordered, “lift me up.”

 

Posner removed the blanket from his mouth. “No.”

 

Dakin had thrown a tantrum right then and there.

 

The teachers found the three of them half an hour later, with Scripps and Posner sitting together reading their copy of Beatrix Potter under the tree and Dakin sniffling next to them. In awe with the stoic calm that Posner and Scripps had in the face of his commands, Dakin offered them his friendship. The two boys accepted, and a ceremony of hand shaking and introductions was carried out with much pomp and solemnity.

 

In Dakin, Scripps had the best friend he could find. But in Posner, there was only the indescribable feeling of longing and content.

 

 

 

 

 

**ii. Hearing**

 

Scripps loves hearing Posner sing. He was convinced that if he could die hearing Posner’s voice, he would at least die a happy man. He was also a little concerned that he had to resort to talking about death to describe his love of Posner’s singing.

 

Scripps loved the purity of Posner’s tenor, keeping time with the piano, nourishing the music instead of just mere accompaniment. He doesn’t dare tell anyone, much less Posner, about his secret love that he keeps tucked between his ribs, right next to the memory of Posner’s smile and his carefree laugh. He doesn’t tell anyone that rehearsals with Posner is usually the best part of his day because they are eighteen and Posner is in love with Dakin.

 

Posner had confided in him this after one of their rehearsals in the small piano room on the second floor, about a year ago. Scripps remembers the exact date and time of this incident, because the journal entry on that day were the words “fucking hELL”, underlined twice, the nib of the pen poked so violently that it almost went through the lined paper.

 

They are words that Scripps never wants to hear tumble from Posner’s lips again. It was the only thing, he is certain, that would sound so ugly and mangled coming from that voice of his. Scripps had kept his mouth tightly shut then, unable to reply, for fear that the snake of jealousy would come uncurling from his tongue and engulf him whole.

 

Today, however, had been a good day for rehearsing. They had chosen a Cole Porter number, intent on trying the ‘oldie but goodie’.

 

Posner chose to stay back to talk, as per their custom, while Scripps scribble furiously in his journal. Today, he had chosen to write about George Eliot and Atheism, with little scribbles on how Posner’s voice sounded surprisingly light and innocent when he tries out Cole Porter’s songs.

 

“What d’you write in that notebook?” Posner asked idly, leafing through Scripps’s score, eyes concentrated on the notes before him.

 

“Dunno,” Scripps replied, self consciously, as he tried to shift his journal out of Posner’s line of sight. “Silly things, I suppose, mostly snarky commentary on things going on around me.”

 

“Oh really?” Posner looks up, fascinated. “Anything interesting about me in there?”

 

Scripps feels his cheeks flush hot. He flicked the cap of his pen, looking down before smirking at Posner. “Maybe a little about all your whinings.”

 

Posner had laughed and hit him on the head with the rolled up score sheet. Scripps grinned too, glad that he’s the one who put the smile on Posner’s face, glad that he could hear Posner’s warm laughter, each staccato breath an exhalation of joy made because of him.

 

 

 

 

 

**iii. Smell**

 

Posner never did have a definable smell, but it will always be something Scripps would recognise immediately. Cologne and shampoo, he could pick out, but also a soft, woodsy scent that has been ingrained in him as the unmistakable presence of Posner.

 

Scripps reason that he couldn’t have been much of a creep if he enjoyed other kinds of smells too. For example, Dakin’s musk and leather, the smell of old books and wet ink, as well as the aroma of his mother’s home cooked food. But it has alway been Posner’s scent that unknotted his eyebrows and untensed his shoulders. Home, he realised, is one bathed in the scent of Posner.

 

Maybe that was why he enjoyed bumping shoulders with Posner, exulting in the close proximity and the warmth. Sometimes, if he’s brave enough, Scripps would say that the younger boy seem to relax in his presence too.

 

 

 

 

 

**iv. Touch**

 

Scripps had long since come to a realisation before his seventeenth birthday. Firstly, that he’s gay and secondly, that he’s only gay for Posner. The truth did not shock him, nor did he consider it a violation against the beliefs of the Church. If anything, he only feels a sense of relief and confidence at his discovery.

 

It is on their way home one day that Scripps notices Posner’s silence. They usually ride to Posner’s house on Thursdays to read or, as is becoming the norm, to study. Posner usually loved chatting to Scripps on these rides home but today, he was surprisingly moody, melancholic and morose.

 

“What’s the matter with you?” Scripps asks, dismounting from his bike. “You’re quiet. And uncharacteristically sad. Well, sadder than usual.”

 

“Am not.” Posner fires back. He furrows his brows and glances at the tarmac, letting loose a soft sigh. They ride in silence for a while more, keeping in close distance with each other.

 

“He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?” Posner murmurs, soft and unsure, the bumpy road making his voice jump. “He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.”

 

Scripps feels his heart rend. “Oh Pos,” he shook his head. “It’ll pass. Dakin isn’t worth it anyway.”

 

Posner’s head snaps to face Scripps as he came to a screeching halt, his eyes full of hurt. “It hasn’t been about Dakin for a while, you know.”

 

Scripps recoils slightly at the bite in his voice. “Bloody good then,” he says gruffly, after a pause. “You deserve so much more.”

 

Posner slants a look at him and aims a secretive smile at the handles of his bike, fingers rubbing over it softly as they resume their journey.

 

Scripps cannot help but give in to the desperate and foolish hope that maybe, maybe, Posner is referring to him. He squashes it, however, when he reminds himself of the reality of the situation. He’s nothing like Dakin, plain to his handsome, reserved to his extroverted ways. The likelihood of Posner’s affections being aimed at him is miniscule and even if it were to be true, it will never happen in this universe.

 

There is, however, a change in the air. A slow loosening of boundaries such that, over the course of Thursdays, Scripps would find that more often than not, they would touch each other more often. Nothing major, just a brush of fingers along the back of wrists, the bumping of shoulders as they pass each other, the throwing of hands over another’s shoulder in a show of camaraderie. There is one particular instance though, that stands out in Scripps’s mind. He was teaching Posner how to play the piano, delighting in the dramatic indignation of Posner’s claims of inadequacy when his fingers found Posner’s and tangled together.

 

There was a delicate moment, one that Scripps was tempted to break by pushing his other hand through Posner’s hair and bringing their mouths together. But he couldn’t. And wouldn’t and shouldn’t.

 

Posner was giving him the strangest look, something loaded with meaning that Scripps couldn’t make out and yet, there was intent. Posner’s fingers felt bony and fragile beneath his and he could not seem to stop rubbing them, marveling at their closely and the miracle blooming around them. He did not feel himself leaning in, closer than necessary. So close, he could count the lashes on the other boy’s lids. So close, that he could feel the breath of Posner against his lips. So close, that if he just lean in a little more--

 

The door of the music room crashed open and Dakin, that fucking wanker, tumbled in with Irwin, their lips locked and bodies wrapped in a furious embrace.

 

The ensuing scene involved a lot of yelling and shame faced apologies, mostly by Scripps and Irwin, respectively.But in the chaos, the moment of what could have been was forgotten, or at least, put to the back of Scripps’s mind.

 

That night, in the safety of his bedroom with the phantom feel of Posner’s touch still ghosting along his skin, Scripps scribbled out a copy of “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock”.

 

 

 

 

 

**v. Taste**

 

In the end, it all cumulated to a climax in the music room, of all places.

 

“Oi, Scripps.”

 

Scripps grunted, unable to look Dakin in the eye after the horribly scarring incident. He still slow down his pace and lets Dakin catch up with him.

 

“There’s something going on between you and Posner,” Dakin stated bluntly, as a way of a ‘hello’. “You’ve been staring at each other with those disgustingly lovey-dovey eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re in love.”

 

Scripps snorted. “You should get your eyes checked, mate. The only ones doing the lovey-dovey eyes are you and Irwin, you disgusting sod.”

 

Dakin smirked. “All I’m saying is, if you actually balls up and kiss the poor guy, it might be less painful for all of us. Even Rudge’s starting to notice it, you know.”

 

“Yeah, well, Posner isn’t in love with me, so what good does it make?”

 

Dakin tutted sympathetically and pokes Scripps in the ribs. “Don’t be so sure of that mate. Akhtar told me Posner said that he does fancies you a bit. Not,” he raises his voice at Scripps’s disbelieving look, “not the way he liked me, no. There's something else entirely there.” Dakin shrugs, face full of sly mirth. “Beside, I saw Posner sneaking a look at your arse yesterday.”

 

Scripps had hit him with a book then, pushing a cackling Dakin aside with a bemused grin but he stores this tidbit away, reveling in the way it lights him up inside.

 

                                                                                                                                 *

 

They found themselves back in the music room on a Tuesday practicing ‘The Weed Smoker’s Dream' for the next lesson. Scripps’s fingers danced over the familiar keys, lost in the smooth voice of Posner, half a mind still thinking back to Dakin’s words.

 

He had met with Posner soon after, and although he did not divulge what Dakin had told him, he could not help but notice the way Posner’s face brightens around him or the way he seem to be drawn to Posner’s side like a moth to a flame. Posner has been looking at him more often with that fond look in his eyes, something that Scripps prefer to return with a blush and a lopsided tilt of the mouth.

 

Posner finishes the song, dragging out the last note in a sultry tone. Scripps looks up, a  word of encouragement on his tongue, but it faded away at the sight of the other boy.

 

Posner had draped himself over the piano, staring at Scripps. The slight tilt of Posner’s lips, his eyes glancing upwards at Scripps through his lashes. It’s a seduction, pure and simple, so unlike Posner that Scripps gave a start, trying to advert his eyes from the hypnotic pull of Posner’s tongue across his bottom lip. Posner, damn him, knows exactly what he’s doing and Scripps is powerless to resist.

 

The twisting of his fingers gave him away, a nervous tell that Posner had never quite managed to quit. It makes Scripps relax, knowing Posner wants this as much as he does. It would be so easy to assume Posner as the confident one in this dangerous game of feelings and yet, here they are, the both of them. The boy who never acts and his best friend, the one whom he loves him and probably, maybe, most likely loves him back too.

 

Posner bit his lip, unsure, breaking the charade, and that is when Scripps knows.  It was a sudden realisation of the perpetual knowing that he has always been in love, that he could not be away from Posner, that he could not live without him.

 

“Laugh at the twisted streets of this island,” Scripps hoarsely recited. “Laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you.”

 

“Deny me bread, air, light, spring, but never deny me your laughter, for I would die.” Posner replied, awed. “Scripps, I--”

 

And that was all he could get out before Scripps cups Posner’s face and pulls their mouths together. He could feel the rushing of the blood, the desperate roaming of Posner’s hands, finally, finally, allowed to touch. The sweet softness of Posner’s lips on his own, parted, tongue tangling in an obscene dance. He could vaguely register the embarrassing moans and whimpers and the wet sounds from the sliding of their lips, but his heart is full, his world finally coloured , his words no longer empty. He licks deeper, nipping a little at Posner’s full bottom lip and running his hands through Posner’s hair. This, he realised, is what the poets had meant by a life satisfied, wishes granted, fears faced. Of finally being able to see.

 

A small voice in the corner of his brain realised he’d have to thank Dakin for this and bear the look of smugness on his face. But at the moment, with his senses delighting in the pressing of their bodies, he decides to leave it be as he dives in again and again into Posner’s kiss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This has been hiding for way too long in my hard drive so I'm purging it now. Be free, my little one.  
> As always, comments and criticisms are welcomed!
> 
>  
> 
> [ tumblr](myskittlesexploded.tumblr.com)


End file.
